


Patchwork

by amcw177



Series: The hacker and his spy [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Implied Midorima/Takao, M/M, implied Aomine/Kuroko, vague descriptions of violence and aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amcw177/pseuds/amcw177
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima is not Aomine's private physician, Aomine doesn't want him to be, and Takao has entirely different plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patchwork

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small addendum to a larger fic, called 'Maker-Breaker' (Now easily accessible via the 'The hacker and his spy' series link! Woohoo!). I felt there was not enough Midorima and Takao in that one so, here we are. Unfortunately, this is not suited to be read as a standalone fic.
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely andreaphobia for providing much appreciated beta services.

“This is the last time I am patching you up,” Midorima says, and slaps the piece of gauze onto the burn wound with so much force that Aomine almost topples off the examination table.

“Ow!” Aomine tries to bat Midorima’s hand away, but receives a warning glare and stops. “If that’s your best medical care, I’m gonna have to look for another doctor anyway.”

“Please do.” Midorima shoots him a stern look over his glasses, and continues to tape off the area around the wound.

This is the third time in two months Aomine has had to track down Midorima’s underground clinic. They move around a lot - more often as of late, which Aomine refuses to believe is due to his increasing number of visits - but for someone like Aomine, it’s not hard to find them. Especially when he has help.

Midorima wanders off to one of the massive medicine cabinets while Aomine struggles back into his shirt and jacket. He returns with a nondescript pill bottle and drops it into Aomine’s lap. “Three times a day. Eat first. And try not to get set on fire again.”

Aomine examines the bottle and grimaces. “Yeah, I’ll ask ‘em to stick to bullets next time.”

Humor is definitely the wrong way to go. Midorima merely turns his back on Aomine and starts ripping off his gloves like he needs to exorcise them. “Get out of here.”

“Always a pleasure, doc.” Aomine hops off the table and buttons up his shirt, stuffing it back into his pants as best as he can with a shoulder he doesn’t dare put too much strain on. He leaves the tie off entirely, rolling it up and putting it into his jacket pocket. It’s not like the singed hole in his jacket is going to earn him any points for elegance.

“Please know,” Midorima says before Aomine leaves, “that if you ever set the cops on us again, I will personally see to it that no hospital in this state will treat you. For the rest of your shortened life.”

“Hey!” Aomine complains. “The raid the other day was not my fault. How was I supposed to know that scumbag would head over here after I shot him? They were following him, not me.”

Midorima waves his hand. It’s vaguely accusatory. “You come here all the time so why shouldn’t he? We are not your private medical facility, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Fine.” Aomine aggressively tugs at the lapels of his jacket. “Next time I shoot somebody I’m gonna tell them to go to a hospital. A real hospital.”

“Have you tried not shooting anybody? You might find it helpful.”

Aomine cocks his head to the side, pretending to think about it. Then he shakes his head. “Yeah, no.”

There is this vein on Midorima’s temple that protrudes quite dangerously when he is fed up with whatever bullshit he has to deal with and Aomine has become intimately familiar with it over the course of the last couple of months.

“Get out,” Midorima snarls. Seeing as how there are several scalpels within his reach, Aomine acknowledges that it might be time for a strategic retreat.

Aomine lets the door slam shut before Midorima can hurl anything sharp at him. It brings him face to face with Takao, who gives him a curiously amused look while clutching a couple of balled-up bed sheets - the majority of which are drenched in blood. Aomine doesn’t even ask.

“Hey,” Takao greets him. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Aomine glances back at the closed door and adds, “A little better than before.”

“Great!” Takao grins and pokes him in the stomach as if they had been friends since high school. (He’s lucky that’s not where Aomine’s burn wound is; otherwise, Aomine might have had to break his arm.) “I told you it was no biggie.”

Aomine rubs his stomach and inconspicuously tries to move away from Midorima’s temporary examination room.

“Felt like a biggie when that asshole came at me with that blow torch,” Aomine grumbles. Notes for the future: no more fights in restaurant kitchens. Flambé burners are evil little fuckers.

Takao laughs his bright, unfazed laugh, which stands in disturbing contrast to what he’s holding at the moment. He walks Aomine to the exit, babbling about the day’s happenings. Aomine has half a mind to ask Takao if he has nothing better to do but decides against it. Takao might actually tell him.

“Hey, wait.” Takao stops him on the steps outside, looking hesitant. “He doesn’t suspect anything, does he?”

Aomine frowns. “What? You mean about you?”

Takao nods.

“Nah,” Aomine waves it off. “And it annoys him so much, I can’t even begin to describe it.”

Takao exhales a breath of relief.

“I’ve been wondering, though,” Aomine muses. “Why do you keep sending me your address every time you guys move?”

Takao shrugs. “Shin-chan is all work, you know? He doesn’t socialize much. So, I thought he could make a friend through work.”

Aomine has to take a step backwards at that. He forgets that he is standing on a flight of stairs and ends up semi-tumbling a couple of steps downward.

“I-... You think we-...,” Aomine gestures helplessly between himself and wherever Midorima might be right now. “No, I don’t get it.”

“You seem like an okay guy.” Takao presents him with a reassuring smile. “And you come by fairly often.”

“Uhm, not voluntarily?”

“But you do. It takes awhile for Shin-chan to get used to people but once he realizes he is not going to get rid of you...” Takao sounds like he is talking from personal experience. “He sort of accepts you. Like an untreatable fungus.”

Aomine isn’t sure if the comparison to fungal growth is particularly flattering, but lets it slide in favor of pointing out the flaw in Takao’s theory. “You know, I’m not exactly friend material.”

“Kuroko seems to like you well enough.”

Aomine ponders that for a moment. Given that the last thing he did with Tetsu was sex and breakfast in bed before this whole... flambé accident happened, he is pretty certain ‘friends’ is not a term that covers the entire ground of their relationship at this point.

“Okay, that is definitely not the kind of friendship I wanna have with Midorima,” Aomine decides, eventually.

“You’d have a problem with me if it was.” Takao grins broadly but there is something sharp lurking behind it. Takao does have access to scalpels so Aomine feels entirely justified in being wary.

“O-kay.” Aomine nods and takes a precautionary step backwards and onto the pavement. “I’m not sure what you expect from me then. Midorima doesn’t want me around and I certainly don’t want to come here every week with new and interesting injuries just to make conversation.”

“That’s okay.” The sharpness is gone from Takao’s smile. It’s back to its usual untainted splendor. “Just don’t die, okay? He’s getting used to your regular visits and he doesn’t react well to changes in routine.”

There is little Aomine can reply to that. He is not going to die out of spite. So, he gives Takao a thumbs up. “Definitely. Not dying is right there at the top of my list of priorities.”

“Fantastic! See you next time, then,” Takao says, with a delighted lilt to his voice, and skips back inside.

Aomine decides to be insulted at the notion that there will be a next time. It’s not like he means to get stabbed, shot, burnt, or punched all the time. People just don’t talk anymore.


End file.
